I think overall there will probably be devastating long term effects on the movie industry from a horror movie based on a youtube video based on a 4chan post making 7 times it's budget on opening weekend but I think the movie itself is probably preddy good
what studios are going to take away from this, unfortunately, is not that building practical sets instead of green screen stages and taking a risk on a 20 year old first time director can sometimes pay off and elevate a really thin script into something more substantial. they are going to start asking themselves how do we make a movie out of that one post that says notice how there was no wednesday this week
love it when people link wikipedia pages instead of explaining the point. The url alone conveys so much disdain and contempt. Here is the information you desire, i found it with ease.
steve harrington x fem!henderson!reader (word count: 9700)
summary: after trying to deal with the horrifying truth about what dustin had hidden in your house, you, steve and the others set out to hunt the creature before anyone else could get hurt. but deep in the woods outside hawkins, what starts as a desperate search quickly turns into something far worse, forcing you to realise dart was never the only monster out there.
warnings: canon-typical violence, cursing
note: I'm so sorry this took so long, my birthday was yesterday and was enjoying my holiday as much as possible, still in Japan so might post every two days up until the 27th if that is okay! but I hope you all enjoy :) so sorry again
series masterlist - << prev chapter - next chapter >>
--------------
The drive back to your house is painfully awkward.
Not quiet exactly—Dustin’s far too stressed to stay quiet for long—but tense in that strange way where nobody really knows how they’re supposed to act around each other anymore. The headlights cut through the dark road ahead as your car speeds through Hawkins, the hum of the engine filling the spaces between conversation while your hands stay locked tightly around the steering wheel.
Steve sits in the backseat, slouched slightly forward with his elbows braced against his knees, trying to process everything Dustin has thrown at him in the last ten minutes. Every now and then you can feel him looking at you through the mirror, probably hoping for some sign this is all exaggerated.
Unfortunately for him, it isn’t.
Dustin sits beside you in the passenger seat, clutching the nail bat across his lap like it’s a security blanket, bouncing his leg anxiously hard enough to shake half the car.
For a while, nobody says anything.
Then finally Steve breaks the silence.
“…How big?”
Dustin immediately turns toward him.
“First he was like this,” he says, holding his fingers a few inches apart.
Steve squints at him.
“And now?”
Dustin lowers the bat awkwardly so he can use both hands this time, stretching them apart dramatically.
“Now he’s like this.”
Steve stares at him for a second before leaning back against the seat with a disbelieving shake of his head.
“I swear to God, dude, it’s probably just some lizard—”
“He’s NOT a lizard,” Dustin shoots back instantly.
Steve throws his hands up slightly.
“Yeah, how do you know?”
Dustin looks genuinely offended.
“How do I know if he’s a lizard or not???”
“Yeah—”
“Because its face opened up and ate our cat,” you cut in flatly, eyes still fixed firmly on the road.
Silence.
Steve blinks once.
“…Right.”
But even now he still doesn’t fully look convinced.
“What about those dragon things?” he asks a second later.
Dustin frowns. “Dragons?”
“The real ones.”
“The real dragons?” Dustin repeats slowly.
Steve nods impatiently. “Yeah, those things.”
Dustin stares at him for a long moment before realization finally hits.
“A Komodo?”
“Yeah!”
Dustin groans loudly, dragging a hand down his face.
“One: Komodo dragons are from Indonesia.” He holds up a finger. “And two: Dart’s not a Komodo.”
Steve sighs heavily. “Then what is it?”
Dustin turns fully in his seat then, completely serious.
“He’s a baby Demogorgon.”
The words settle heavily in the car.
You feel Steve’s eyes flick toward you again through the mirror, still searching for confirmation, disbelief, anything.
You’re too exhausted for this.
“Can both of you please shut up?” you mutter finally, rubbing a hand briefly over your forehead before gripping the wheel again.
The car falls quiet after that.
Outside, Hawkins grows darker around you, streetlights flickering past as you finally turn onto your road. Your stomach tightens immediately the second your house comes into view at the end of the street, the uneasy feeling returning full force now that you’re actually back.
The storm shelter.
The thing inside it.
The fact you left it there.
You pull into the driveway a little too fast, gravel crunching loudly beneath the tires before the car jerks to a stop.
Nobody moves for a second.
Then Steve abruptly pushes the back door open and climbs out.
You watch him through the windshield as he circles toward the trunk, still looking deeply unconvinced but tense enough now to at least take this seriously.
The trunk flies open with a loud WHOOM.
Steve reaches inside immediately and yanks out the nail bat, gripping it tightly before slamming the trunk shut again.
And standing there beneath the dim porch light, bat in hand, jaw tense, he finally starts looking less like an annoyed ex-boyfriend dragged into your problems—
And more like someone who survived this nightmare once already.
____________________
The backyard feels colder at night.
Not literally maybe, but enough that it crawls over your skin the second you step out onto the grass behind Steve and Dustin. The porch light barely reaches this far, leaving most of the yard swallowed in darkness except for the pale glow stretching across the storm shelter doors.
You hate looking at them.
Knowing what’s underneath them somehow makes your own backyard feel unfamiliar, wrong in a way that settles uneasily in your chest.
Steve walks slightly ahead of you now, the nail bat hanging from one hand, his shoulders tense in a way that tells you he’s finally stopped thinking this might be some elaborate misunderstanding. Dustin hovers close beside you, anxious energy practically radiating off him as the three of you approach the shelter slowly.
Steve glances toward the doors.
“I don’t hear shit.”
“He’s in there,” Dustin says immediately, too quickly.
Steve eyes him skeptically before stepping forward and tapping the metal lightly with the bat.
Nothing.
He hits it harder this time.
Still nothing.
“I swear,” Steve mutters, looking between the two of you now, “if this is some Halloween prank, you’re dead.”
You let out a sharp breath through your nose, already irritated again.
“Steve, trust me,” you say flatly, “it’s not a goddamn prank.”
He looks at you then, properly looks at you, and whatever he sees in your face finally wipes the last bit of disbelief from his expression.
There’s a beat before he turns back toward Dustin.
“You got a key for this thing?”
Dustin immediately digs into his pocket, fingers fumbling slightly before producing the small key. But he hesitates before handing it over, swallowing hard as his eyes flick nervously toward the doors.
“…Just make it quick.”
“Key,” Steve repeats firmly, holding his hand out.
Dustin finally passes it over.
The metallic click of the lock sounds way too loud in the quiet backyard.
You feel yourself tense automatically as Steve slowly pulls one of the doors open, the hinges groaning softly as darkness yawns beneath it.
Steve raises the bat immediately, body braced for something to come flying up at him—
But nothing does.
The three of you just stand there staring down into darkness.
Silent.
Still.
Dustin squints into the opening anxiously.
“…He must be further down there,” he says quietly. “I’ll stay up here. In case he, you know… tries to escape.”
Steve exhales slowly, clearly thrilled about this situation, tightening his grip on the bat before starting down the steps.
You roll your eyes instantly and move after him.
Steve glances back briefly like he’s about to argue, but you’re already following him into the shelter before he can.
“I’m not going to be known as the girl whose storm shelter Steve Harrington died in. Now move” you reply to his look, just pushing down your fears and following.
The darkness inside wraps around you immediately.
The air smells damp and stale, thick with dirt and something underneath it that instantly makes your stomach tighten—the same horrible organic smell from Dustin’s room earlier. Steve’s sneakers echo softly against the concrete steps as the two of you descend carefully, your shoulder brushing the rough wall as you move deeper underground.
It’s too quiet.
That’s the worst part.
After everything that happened earlier, the silence feels unnatural now, like something waiting.
Steve reaches the bottom first and immediately searches along the wall before finding the switch.
The fluorescent light overhead sputters violently before buzzing weakly to life, flooding the shelter in harsh flickering light that makes everything somehow look worse.
Your eyes adjust slowly.
And then you see it.
“Oh, shit.”
The words leave you automatically.
Another pile of dead skin lies stretched across the floor, half submerged in thick puddles of mucus, bigger than the one from Dustin’s room. Much bigger.
Steve slowly kneels beside it, using the end of the bat to lift part of it carefully.
The skin unfolds grotesquely under the flickering light.
Your stomach drops.
It grew again.
Steve goes very still beside you, all traces of skepticism finally disappearing from his face as the reality settles in properly. You watch his expression tighten slightly, his jaw clenching as he stares at the thing hanging from the bat.
Then his eyes narrow toward something deeper in the shelter.
“…The hell?”
You follow his line of sight.
At first you don’t understand what you’re looking at.
Then your brain catches up.
The wall.
There’s a hole in it.
Not a crack.
Not damage.
A hole.
Big enough for something large to crawl through.
Behind you, Dustin’s voice drifts nervously down from above.
“…Y/N? What’s going on? Steve?!”
Neither of you answer immediately.
Because honestly?
You don’t know how to.
Steve straightens slowly before finally looking upward toward the opening.
“Get down here.”
A few moments later Dustin appears at the bottom of the stairs looking nervous as hell, his eyes immediately catching on the dead skin still hanging from Steve’s bat.
“—Oh Jesus—”
“Over here,” you say quickly, unable to stop staring at the wall yourself.
Dustin moves toward you cautiously before freezing the second he sees it.
The hole is massive up close, the edges torn through dirt and concrete alike, disappearing into complete darkness beyond.
“…No way.”
He kneels down slowly beside it, staring into the tunnel like he’s trying to force his brain to understand what he’s seeing.
You can’t stop staring either.
Because it doesn’t just end there.
The tunnel keeps going.
Deep.
Dark.
Stretching somewhere far beyond your backyard.
And standing there beside Steve in the flickering fluorescent light, your stomach sinks with a horrifying realization:
Dart didn’t just escape.
It dug its way somewhere else.
________________________
The three of you climb back out of the storm shelter slowly, like none of you really know what to do with the information you just found.
The cold night air hits your face the second you step back into the backyard, but it doesn’t help clear your head. If anything, it just makes everything feel more surreal. Your own backyard suddenly feels too small now knowing there’s a tunnel running beneath it, something dark and endless stretching somewhere underneath Hawkins itself.
Dustin pushes both shelter doors shut harder than necessary before immediately starting to pace across the grass, his curls damp with sweat again despite the cold. Steve lingers closer to the shelter, still gripping the nail bat tightly, his expression caught somewhere between disturbed and deeply confused.
You honestly can’t decide which mood you’re stuck in yourself.
Panic.
Anger.
Exhaustion.
Probably all three.
You cross your arms tightly as Dustin keeps pacing back and forth in front of the shed, muttering under his breath while trying to think.
“No no no, this is bad,” he says finally, louder now. “This is seriously bad.”
“Really?” you reply dryly. “Hadn’t noticed.”
Steve glances toward you briefly at the sarcasm before looking back toward the shelter doors.
“That thing dug all the way out of here?” he asks, still trying to process it. “Like… underground?”
“Yes, Steve,” you sigh tiredly. “That is generally what tunnels are.”
He shoots you an annoyed look.
“Can you not do that right now?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, is this stressful for you?”
“Y/N,” Dustin groans sharply, throwing his hands up. “Can you two not do this right now either?”
You roll your eyes but let it drop, dragging a hand through your hair instead as the silence settles again.
The problem is nobody actually has an answer.
Dustin eventually stops pacing long enough to look between both of you, visibly trying to force himself to think rationally through the panic.
“We have to go look for him,” he says suddenly.
You stare at him.
“…What?”
“Tomorrow,” Dustin says quickly, already nodding to himself like he’s convincing his own brain. “We have to find Dart tomorrow.”
“And then what?” you ask immediately, incredulous. “Dustin, we were lucky last year. We were so incredibly lucky.” Your voice tightens slightly without meaning to as memories you’ve spent a year trying not to think about start pushing back in. “And we had weapons and traps and actual adults helping us. We are not going to be that lucky again.”
“Agreed,” Steve says instantly.
You glance at him automatically, annoyed he’s agreeing with you for some reason you can’t even explain, and he notices immediately.
“What?” he says defensively.
You just shake your head and look away again.
Dustin looks between both of you, frustrated now.
“We have to find him,” he insists. “What if he starts killing things a lot bigger than Mews?”
That shuts you up.
Your jaw tightens slightly as the image flashes unwillingly through your mind again—the blood on Dustin’s carpet, the shredded fur, the thing lifting its face toward you with those teeth.
You exhale slowly through your nose.
Because he’s right.
God, he’s right.
“…Fine,” you mutter eventually, the word leaving reluctantly as you look down toward the grass. “Fine.”
Dustin visibly relaxes just slightly at that before immediately turning toward Steve with renewed determination.
“Steve. Meet back here tomorrow.”
Steve blinks at him.
“For what exactly?” He gestures vaguely with the bat still hanging from his hand. “You got a plan in that head, Sherlock?”
Dustin just nods once like he absolutely does, even though you’re pretty sure he’s making this up as he goes along.
Then, without another word, he turns and heads back toward the house.
You sigh quietly and move to follow him, already exhausted by the entire night, by the monster, by the tunnels, by Nancy disappearing, by Steve Harrington somehow being dragged back into your life at the exact same time everything else was falling apart—
“Hey.”
You stop near the porch steps and turn around slowly.
Steve’s still standing near the shelter, the nail bat hanging loosely from one hand now.
“What,” you ask flatly.
He shifts awkwardly for a second before speaking.
“…Can you, like, take me back to my car?”
For a second you just stare at him.
The thought of sitting in another tense, silent car ride with Steve Harrington right now genuinely sounds unbearable. Your nerves are fried, your head hurts, and honestly? You’re still annoyed at him. Maybe unfairly, but annoyed all the same.
Without another word, you pull your keys from your pocket and toss them toward him.
Steve barely catches them in time, looking startled.
“Just take my car,” you say tiredly, already turning back toward the house. “You’re coming back anyway.”
“Wait—seriously?”
You don’t answer.
You just head for the front door instead, hearing Dustin moving around inside already as you shove it open and step back into the house, leaving Steve standing alone in your driveway holding your keys beneath the dim porch light.
_________________________________________
Sleep comes easier than the night before, but only barely.
You still wake up exhausted.
Morning light spills weakly through the curtains, soft and pale against your bedroom walls as you slowly blink awake, your body heavy with the kind of tiredness sleep doesn’t actually fix. For a second you just lie there staring blankly at the ceiling, disoriented and groggy, until the warm weight pressed beside you reminds you why Dustin is once again asleep in your bed.
Or was asleep.
The second he notices you moving, he practically jolts upright.
Unlike you, Dustin looks instantly awake. Alert. Focused. Like his brain never really shut off in the first place.
“We gotta go today,” he mutters quickly, already shoving the blankets off himself as he scrambles out of bed. “Like early. Before people are around.”
You groan softly, dragging your hands down your face.
“Good morning to you too.”
But he’s already halfway out the room before you finish speaking.
You hear drawers slamming upstairs almost immediately, hurried footsteps rushing back and forth through the hallway while you stay buried beneath the blankets for another minute, trying to gather enough energy to function.
Because this is insane.
Three days ago your biggest problem was Nancy acting weird and Steve Harrington being irritating. Now there’s another Demogorgon loose in Hawkins and somehow Steve’s involved in your life again in the weirdest possible way.
Eventually you force yourself up with another tired sigh, stretching slightly before trudging downstairs in your pajamas. The house smells faintly like coffee already, and when you step into the kitchen you find your mum pulling on her coat by the counter, keys in hand.
The second she sees you, her expression softens.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
You barely manage a hum in response before she walks over, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.
“I’ll be back late tonight, okay?” she says gently. “I wanna keep looking for Mews.”
Your stomach twists instantly.
God.
The guilt hasn’t eased at all.
“Okay,” you say quietly.
She gives your shoulder a small squeeze before heading toward the door, still looking worried as she leaves the house.
The second the front door shuts, the silence settles heavily around the kitchen again.
You stand there for a moment staring at nothing before finally turning toward the coffee pot, desperate for caffeine at this point. Your whole body feels sore with exhaustion as you pour yourself a mug, leaning against the counter while the coffee brews.
You barely get halfway through your first sip before someone knocks at the front door.
You freeze for half a second before remembering.
Right.
Steve.
With a long suffering sigh, you set your mug down and shuffle toward the front door, still half asleep, hair an absolute mess from sleep and stress and not caring enough to fix it yet.
The second you open the door, Steve’s eyes flick over you once before a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Morning, princess,” he says easily. “You look like shit.”
You stare at him flatly for a second before rolling your eyes and stepping aside to let him in.
“Good morning to you too, Harrington.”
Steve walks inside, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket while you head straight back toward your coffee without waiting for him. He lingers awkwardly near the kitchen doorway for a second, looking strangely out of place standing in your house this early in the morning.
Honestly, it feels weird for you too.
Steve Harrington usually exists at school, or at parties, or attached to Nancy Wheeler’s side—not standing in your kitchen at eight in the morning while Dustin races around upstairs preparing for monster hunting.
You take another sip of coffee as Steve glances around the kitchen before looking back at you.
“You always this friendly in the morning?”
You don’t even look at him.
“You always this annoying?”
___________________________________
You’re halfway through your coffee when Dustin suddenly reappears like a tornado.
He storms into the kitchen carrying three buckets that clang loudly against his legs, a stuffed backpack hanging off one shoulder and his curls somehow even messier than before. The sheer amount of energy he has this early in the morning honestly feels offensive.
Steve, meanwhile, has drifted further into the kitchen while waiting, glancing around your house with quiet curiosity. His eyes catch on the framed photos covering the walls and shelves—pictures of you and Dustin as kids at birthday parties, Christmas mornings, school events. There’s one of you missing your two front teeth holding a furious-looking Dustin in a puddle at the beach. Another where twelve-year-old you are asleep on the couch with Dustin drooling all over your shoulder.
Steve snorts softly under his breath at one of them.
“Oh my God.”
You narrow your eyes immediately over the rim of your mug.
“What.”
Before Steve can answer, Dustin shoves one of the buckets straight into his chest.
Steve barely catches it in time.
“We need supplies,” Dustin says quickly, already moving toward the back of the house.
Steve looks down at the bucket in confusion. “Why do I have this?”
“Y/N,” Dustin continues, ignoring him completely, “do we still have loads of meat in the freezer?”
You blink at him slowly, still barely awake.
“Probably. I don’t exactly take freezer stocktakes, Dustin.” You frown slightly. “Why?”
“To lure Dart,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on.”
He disappears toward the garage freezer before either of you can argue.
You sigh heavily and shove yourself away from the counter, coffee still clutched tightly in your hand as you follow after him with Steve trailing behind. The garage is cold when Dustin throws open the freezer, immediately digging through it with determination while muttering to himself.
Steve stares into the freezer.
“…Jesus Christ, how much meat do you people have?”
“Mom likes a sale” you mumble tiredly.
“There is not enough people in this house for this much meat.”
Dustin starts tossing frozen packages into the buckets one by one—ground beef, chicken, steaks, whatever he can grab fastest. Steve eventually crouches down to help, still looking deeply disturbed by the entire situation.
“So let me get this straight,” he says while throwing frozen burgers into the bucket. “We’re hunting a baby Demogorgon with raw meat.”
“Yes,” Dustin says immediately.
Steve looks at you for confirmation.
You shrug weakly.
By the time the buckets are full, your fingers are freezing and your exhaustion has somehow gotten worse. Dustin starts rambling again immediately about trails and bait while you slowly back away toward the hallway.
“I need a shower before I die.”
Neither of them even properly acknowledge you as you head to the bathroom.
The hot water helps slightly. Not enough, but slightly. By the time you finish showering and changing into jeans and an old sweater, you at least feel more human than corpse-like. You towel dry your hair quickly before heading back, only to find Steve leaning against the kitchen counter waiting while Dustin continues reorganizing supplies nearby.
Steve’s eyes flick up the second he sees you.
“Well,” he says with a smirk, “not going monster hunting in the princess pajamas? That’s a shame.”
You roll your eyes immediately, grabbing your keys from the counter.
“You’re hilarious.”
“I know.”
Unfortunately, the confidence with which he says it almost makes it annoying enough to work.
A few minutes later the three of you head outside together, Steve carrying the buckets while Dustin struggles with his overloaded backpack. The cold morning air bites at your face as you approach your car parked in the driveway.
You automatically move toward the driver’s side door.
Steve stops you immediately.
A hand catches lightly around your arm before you can open it.
“Nope.”
You blink at him.
“What?”
“You’re a zombie right now,” Steve says plainly. “I’m not sitting in a car with you driving.”
You narrow your eyes. “I drive perfectly fine tired.”
“You almost poured orange juice into your coffee ten minutes ago.”
Steve is already moving around toward the driver’s side. Acknowledging your silence.
“Exactly.”
Normally you’d argue.
Normally you absolutely would.
But honestly? You’re too exhausted, too stressed, and way too overwhelmed to fight with him right now.
So instead you just let out a long suffering sigh and climb into the passenger seat while Dustin throws himself into the back beside the buckets of frozen meat.
A second later the engine starts.
And with far too much confidence for someone about to hunt another Upside Down creature, Steve Harrington pulls out of your driveway.
____________________________
The car ride is quieter this time.
Not awkward exactly, just tired.
The heater hums softly while Hawkins rolls by outside the windows in washed out shades of grey and brown, the morning still cold enough that condensation clings faintly to the glass. Dustin sits in the back surrounded by supplies, muttering under his breath while checking over his walkie for what feels like the hundredth time, while you sit slumped in the passenger seat staring blankly out the window.
Your brain feels sluggish this morning.
Too little sleep. Too much stress. Too much happening all at once.
Eventually your eyes drift lazily across the dashboard instead, mostly out of boredom—and then you pause.
Your brows pull together slightly.
The fuel gauge is full.
Completely full.
You slowly turn your head toward Steve.
“…Did you fill up my tank?”
Steve visibly startles beside you like he genuinely wasn’t expecting you to notice. His fingers tighten slightly around the steering wheel.
“Uh—yeah. I mean—I did, I don’t know, I just thought—”
“Park here!”
Dustin suddenly cuts across him loudly from the backseat, leaning forward between the seats and pointing toward the edge of the forest ahead.
Steve looks almost relieved by the interruption.
He immediately pulls the car over near the treeline, gravel crunching beneath the tires before the engine cuts off. The woods stretch endlessly ahead of you, dense and deeply uninviting this early in the morning.
Fantastic.
The second you step out of the car, the cold air hits your face hard enough to wake you up properly. Steve heads toward the trunk while Dustin is already fumbling with his walkie again, pacing anxiously near the front of the car.
You move around beside Steve just as he throws the trunk open.
Three buckets of barely defrosted meat.
Backpacks stuffed with supplies.
The nail bat sticking awkwardly out the top of one.
And somehow, standing at the edge of the woods preparing bait buckets for a Demogorgon hunt, you have a brief moment where you realise your life has become completely insane.
Static suddenly crackles loudly through Dustin’s walkie.
You and Steve both glance over automatically.
Dustin immediately lights up.
“Finally.”
He hurries a few steps away from the car, lowering his voice slightly as he starts talking rapidly into the headset. You can’t properly hear the other side of the conversation from where you’re standing, but judging by Dustin’s relieved expression, somebody finally answered him.
Which hopefully means more help.
You let out a breath through your nose and reach for one of the buckets, only for Steve’s hand to brush yours at the exact same time.
You both pull back immediately.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“It’s a bucket, Harrington, not a grenade.”
Steve rolls his eyes but grabs it anyway, hoisting it awkwardly against his hip while you sling one of the backpacks over your shoulder.
For a minute the two of you work in silence, unloading supplies side by side while Dustin continues pacing nearby talking into the walkie.
It’s weirdly domestic.
Or it would be if the supplies weren’t raw meat and weapons.
Steve shuts the trunk harder than necessary before glancing sideways at you.
“You’re still annoyed at me, huh?”
You look up from adjusting the backpack strap.
“What gave it away?”
“The glaring mostly.”
“I always glare at you.”
“Fair point.”
You hate that he says it so casually.
Dustin continues talking nearby while you pull on a pair of dish gloves, shoving another bucket toward Steve without looking at him properly.
“Hold this.”
Steve takes it obediently this time.
Another awkward silence settles between you while Dustin talks in hushed urgent tones nearby, and you can practically feel Steve wanting to say something else.
Eventually he does.
“…You thought I wouldn’t come back?”
You pause slightly.
Your eyes flick toward him briefly before away again.
“I didn’t know,” you answer honestly.
And that seems to shut him up.
A few moments later Dustin finally yanks the walkie off with a relieved sigh before jogging back over toward the two of you.
“They’re coming.”
You don’t even ask who they are.
At this point, more help is more help.
Steve shoulders one of the backpacks while you grab another bucket, exhaustion still weighing heavily in your limbs as you stare toward the woods ahead.
The trees look darker up close.
Too dark.
Like they’re waiting.
“Come on,” Dustin says firmly.
And together, the three of you head into the forest.
__________________________________
The woods feel wrong.
Not in an obvious way at first, not enough that you can point to something specific and say there, that’s what’s making your skin crawl—but wrong enough that every step deeper into the trees makes the uneasy feeling in your stomach tighten a little more.
The train tracks stretch endlessly ahead of you, disappearing between dense walls of trees while wind rattles through the branches overhead. Somewhere far off, crows cry out, the sound carrying strangely through the quiet.
Too quiet.
That’s the worst part.
You walk slightly ahead of the boys, the bucket swinging heavily from your gloved hand as you scoop another dripping chunk of raw meat from inside it and toss it onto the tracks.
SPLAT.
The smell is genuinely horrific. Cold blood and raw meat cling to your gloves, your jacket, the air around you, and every few minutes another gust of wind makes it all somehow worse.
Behind you, Steve makes a noise of disgust while reaching into his own bucket.
“…So let me get this straight,” he says, throwing another bloody piece onto the gravel. “You kept something you knew was probably dangerous just to impress a girl you met like two seconds ago?”
“How?” Steve asks incredulously. “You found a weird slug thing and decided yeah, this’ll definitely get me girls.”
“It wasn’t just a weird slug thing,” Dustin argues. “It was an interdimensional weird slug thing.”
You sigh tiredly without turning around.
“Dustin.”
“What?” he says defensively. “It sounds cooler when I say it like that.”
Steve snorts softly behind you. You can practically hear Dustin glaring at him.
“Okay, well not all of us have your perfect hair, alright?”
That pulls a reluctant laugh out of you before you can stop it.
Small.
Brief.
But enough that Steve notices.
You immediately regret it when you hear the smugness creep into his voice.
“It’s not about the hair, man.” Steve ignores you completely.
“The key with girls,” he continues importantly, “is acting like you don’t care.”
You stop so suddenly on the tracks that gravel crunches sharply beneath your shoes.
Slowly, you turn around.
Steve nearly walks into you.
“What,” you say flatly.
He blinks innocently back at you.
“What?”
“You just told my little brother to emotionally manipulate women.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It literally is.”
Steve gestures vaguely with his bloody dish glove like obviously you’re missing the point.
“I’m saying confidence matters.”
“You said pretend not to care.”
“It drives them nuts!”
You stare at him in complete disbelief for a long second, genuinely too exhausted to even process how stupid this conversation is happening while the three of you are actively hunting a baby Demogorgon through the woods.
Dustin, meanwhile, is looking between the two of you like he’s watching his favourite television show.
“But… then what?” he asks Steve eagerly.
You groan softly and turn back around, continuing down the tracks before this conversation kills you instead of the monster.
“You just wait until you feel it,” Steve says behind you.
“Feel what?”
There’s a pause while Steve thinks.
You toss another piece of meat further down the tracks, your eyes scanning the dark trees automatically while you listen despite yourself.
“It’s like…” Steve starts slowly. “Before it storms, you know? You can’t see it yet, but you can feel it. Like electricity in the air.”
You roll your eyes slightly.
“Like a… sexual electricity.”
You physically recoil.
“Oh my God.”
Behind you, Dustin sounds completely fascinated.
“Whoa.”
“You feel that,” Steve continues with far too much confidence, “then you make your move.”
“And that’s when you kiss her?”
“Slow down, Romeo,” Steve laughs. “Some girls want you to be aggressive, move in strong like a lion. But others…” He shrugs. “You gotta move slow. Stealthy. Like a ninja. Otherwise you scare them off.”
You rub your hand over your face.
“This is genuinely the worst conversation I’ve ever listened to.”
Dustin ignores you entirely, deep in thought now.
“…What type do you think Y/N is?”
Your footsteps stop again.
“Dustin.”
There’s a brief silence behind you this time.
Not awkward exactly.
Just… quieter.
You glance over your shoulder slightly and catch Steve already looking at you before he quickly looks away again, clearing his throat.
“Y/N’s different,” he says eventually.
Your eyebrows pull together faintly.
Dustin nods immediately. “Yeah.”
Steve tosses another piece of meat onto the tracks before continuing.
“She knows what she wants.” His eyes flick briefly toward you again. “She just keeps picking the wrong guys.”
You let out a loud scoff.
“Excuse me?”
Steve shrugs instantly like he didn’t just say something wildly irritating.
“You heard me.”
“Oh, you are unbelievable.”
“Am I wrong?”
“You just have something weird against me even talking to Billy”
“You dated Billy for like three days.”
“I did not date Billy!”
“You were flirting with him.”
“That is not the same thing!”
Dustin’s grin grows wider with every second of this.
“You guys argue like an old married couple.”
“Shut up, Dustin.”
“Shut up, Dustin,” Steve says at the exact same time.
The two of you pause.
Then immediately glare at each other.
Dustin bursts into laughter.
Steve sighs dramatically before shaking his head.
Dustin looks up instantly.
“…What?”
“Fabergé Organics.”
Dustin blinks. “What?”
“The shampoo and conditioner,” Steve explains seriously. “Then when your hair’s damp—not too wet—four puffs of the Farrah Fawcett spray.”
Dustin stares at him like he’s being handed military secrets.
“Farrah Fawcett?”
Steve points a threatening dish glove at him immediately.
“You tell anyone that and you’re dead. Understand me, Henderson?” His eyes flick toward you next. “And you too, Y/N. I swear to God.”
A slow grin finally spreads across your face.
“Oh, I’m absolutely telling everyone I know.”
Steve groans loudly while Dustin laughs beside him, and despite the freezing air, the blood smell, the fear sitting heavily beneath all of this—
For the first time since everything with Dart started—
Things feel almost normal.
Almost.
As the three of you continue down the tracks together, tossing bloody meat deeper into the woods, none of you notice the yellow flag tied beside one of the rotting trees you pass.
_______________________________
By the time the junkyard comes into view, the sun has already started sinking lower in the sky.
Everything is painted gold and orange beneath the fading light, long shadows stretching between mountains of rusted metal and broken-down cars. The abandoned place looks even creepier at dusk, all twisted scrap and silence, the wind whining softly through hollow metal like something breathing.
You step over an old tire while carrying your bucket beside Dustin, Steve a little ahead of both of you as he scans the junkyard through his sunglasses.
Then Steve stops.
He slowly pushes the sunglasses up onto his head, looking around the massive maze of scrap metal and wrecked cars before nodding once.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “This’ll do.”
His mouth pulls slightly into something impressed as he looks toward Dustin.
“Good call, dude.”
Dustin absolutely lights up at the compliment.
You try not to notice it.
Instead, you keep walking deeper into the junkyard with your bucket swinging at your side, stepping carefully over rusted debris while Steve and Dustin follow behind. The whole place feels isolated enough to make your stomach uneasy.
Perfect place to trap a monster, apparently.
A few minutes later the three of you finally stop near a clearing between giant heaps of rusted machinery and overturned cars. Without much ceremony, you all upend your buckets, bloody meat slopping wetly onto the ground while you grimace at the smell worsening all over again.
Then—
“I said medium well!”
A familiar voice echoes across the junkyard.
All three of you immediately look up.
You spot Lucas first, climbing over a pile of scrap with someone following close behind him. The second your eyes land on the red-haired girl beside him, recognition clicks instantly.
Billy’s sister.
You’d only really seen her in passing before around school or near Billy’s car, but up close she looks younger than you expected.
Your eyes flick briefly toward Dustin automatically.
And immediately understand.
Because the poor kid looks like he’s just been shot.
Steve notices too.
“…Who’s that?” he asks quietly.
Nobody answers him.
Dustin’s expression twists almost instantly from stunned heartbreak into betrayal as Lucas and Max finally reach the clearing.
“You told her?” Dustin demands immediately.
The tension spikes so fast it almost gives you whiplash.
You let out a quiet sigh and move away before the argument properly starts, deciding you genuinely do not have the patience to referee boy drama right now.
Instead, you head toward one of the nearby piles of scrap metal where Max is already crouching down collecting pieces silently. Steve joins nearby a moment later, dragging loose metal sheets across the dirt while Dustin and Lucas continue hissing at each other somewhere behind the rusted machinery.
The argument echoes faintly through the junkyard while you work.
“…We all agreed not to tell her—”
“…You wanted to tell her too—”
“…That was before he turned into a Demogorgon!”
You shove an old hubcap into place with more force than necessary before glancing briefly toward Max beside you.
She notices.
“So,” she says dryly, lifting another piece of scrap. “This is either a cult or the weirdest school project ever.”
A small laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
“Honestly? Still figuring that out myself.”
Max smirks slightly at that before going back to work.
A few feet away, Steve is trying to move an entire rusted car door by himself and failing miserably.
You watch him struggle for a second before sighing.
“Move.”
Steve looks up immediately. “I’ve got it.”
“You very clearly don’t.”
He narrows his eyes slightly but steps aside anyway while you grab the other side of the metal with him. Together you drag it into place against a stack of junk cars, creating another wall around the clearing Dustin apparently plans to use as a trap.
The silence between you stretches awkwardly for a moment.
Not hostile exactly.
Just strange.
Different than before.
“You still mad at me?” Steve asks eventually, not looking directly at you this time.
You blink slightly.
“…About what specifically?”
Steve lets out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh.
“Fair enough.”
Before either of you can say anything else, loud clapping suddenly echoes through the junkyard.
WHAP. WHAP.
You look up to see Steve already striding away from you toward the boys, clapping his hands loudly as Dustin and Lucas finally emerge from behind the scrap pile.
“HEY, DICKHEADS!” Steve shouts. “How come the only people helping me are that random girl and your sister?”
Max snorts loudly beside you.
“We lose light in forty,” Steve continues. “Let’s go!”
The boys stare at him.
Steve claps again even louder.
“LET’S GO!”
And somehow, unbelievably, they actually listen.
____________________________
The junkyard slowly transforms around you.
What started as piles of rusted scrap and abandoned cars begins turning into something almost defensive, something desperate and hurried as all five of you work beneath the fading evening light. The sun hangs lower now, staining everything gold and orange while long shadows stretch between towers of metal.
Nobody really talks much anymore.
Not because there’s nothing to say, but because suddenly all of this feels very real.
You can feel it settling over everyone.
The nerves.
The anticipation.
The fear.
Lucas stands inside the old bus hammering sheets of scrap metal over the windows while Max passes more pieces up through the broken frame one at a time. Every loud BANG of the hammer echoes through the junkyard, sharp against the otherwise empty silence.
Nearby, Dustin sits comfortably in one of the old bus seats like he’s supervising a construction site instead of preparing for a Demogorgon attack.
He gives Lucas an approving thumbs up.
“Looking good.”
Lucas stares at him flatly from the window.
“You know, you could help.”
Dustin opens his mouth to respond—
Only for you to smack the back of his head immediately as you walk past.
“OW—”
“Get up and do something useful,” you mutter.
Dustin glares at you dramatically while rubbing the back of his head, but eventually drags himself upright with an exaggerated sigh.
“Violence in the workplace. Nice.”
“Move, Henderson.”
Steve snorts quietly from outside the bus where he’s dragging more scrap metal across the dirt. His sleeves are rolled up now, hair messy from the wind, dirt and grease streaked across his hands and jeans while he works.
Honestly, he looks ridiculous.
And annoyingly good doing it.
You choose not to think about that too hard.
Instead, you grab the gas can from beside the bus and move toward the centre of the junkyard clearing where the disgusting pile of raw meat sits waiting.
The smell is genuinely nauseating now.
You wrinkle your nose immediately before tipping the gas can carefully, pouring gasoline in a wide ring around the meat heap while the sharp chemical smell fills the air. The liquid darkens the dirt instantly, soaking into the ground as you circle the pile slowly.
“Careful with that,” Steve calls from nearby.
You glance over your shoulder.
“What, worried I’ll burn your hair with all it’s products?”
Steve points at you immediately. “Exactly.”
A reluctant smile threatens at the corner of your mouth before you kill it quickly, continuing your trail of gasoline back toward the bus instead.
Across the junkyard, Max appears carrying an old rusted ladder almost as tall as she is.
“Found one!”
Steve jogs over to help her before she drops it on herself, grabbing one side while she keeps hold of the other. Together they lift it toward the roof hatch of the bus, metal screeching loudly as they hook it into place.
The setup starts making sense now.
The bus.
The barricades.
The ladder.
The meat.
A trap.
An actual trap.
Your stomach twists slightly at the realization.
Because last year’s trap nearly killed all of you.
The memory flashes through your head unwillingly—blood, screaming, broken wood, the sound of that thing roaring—
You shove the thought away immediately.
Not now.
By the time the sky starts dimming properly, the bus is fully barricaded.
Every window covered.
Every weak point reinforced.
The inside smells like rust and sweat and gasoline by the time all of you finally climb aboard one after another, exhausted and dirty from hours of work.
Lucas climbs through one of the windows first before helping Max in behind him. Steve follows next, hauling himself through with far less grace than he probably intended while Dustin scrambles in after him.
You’re last.
The second your feet hit the bus floor, Dustin grabs the folding door and yanks it shut hard behind you.
CLANG.
Then locks it.
And suddenly the entire bus falls quiet.
_____________________________
Night settles over the junkyard slowly.
The last of the sunlight disappears behind the towering heaps of rusted metal until everything is swallowed in shades of blue and black, fog creeping low across the ground between abandoned cars and broken machinery. The wind whistles softly through hollow metal somewhere outside the bus, making the entire thing groan faintly around you.
It feels claustrophobic inside now.
Like a submarine slowly sinking.
You sit near one of the barricaded windows with your arms folded tightly across your chest, exhaustion still heavy in your bones after the endless day. Across from you, Dustin paces anxiously up and down the narrow aisle of the bus for what has to be the hundredth time, muttering quietly under his breath while Steve lounges further back in one of the seats, flicking his lighter open and closed over and over again.
FWOOM.
Click.
FWOOM.
Click.
The tiny bursts of orange light briefly illuminate his face each time before plunging the bus back into darkness again.
Above you, you can hear faint movement from the roof where Lucas keeps watch through the makeshift crow’s nest.
Max glances toward Steve after a moment, arms folded loosely as she watches the lighter flicker again.
“You really fought one of these things before?”
Steve nods once.
Max’s eyes shift toward you next.
“And you too?”
You let out a quiet breath through your nose.
“Unfortunately.”
Max studies both of you carefully, still looking skeptical despite everything she’s seen today.
“And you’re both, like, totally one hundred percent sure it wasn’t a bear?”
Dustin immediately stops pacing.
“Don’t be an idiot,” he says flatly. “It wasn’t a bear. I don’t even know why you’re here if you don’t believe us.”
Max raises an eyebrow.
“Yeesh. Someone’s cranky.” She smirks slightly. “Past your bedtime?”
Then she heads for the ladder before Dustin can snap back again, climbing smoothly toward the roof.
Steve watches her go before leaning slightly toward Dustin.
“That’s good,” he says quietly. “Show her you don’t care.”
Dustin frowns immediately.
“I don’t.”
Steve winks at him knowingly.
You let out an incredulous scoff from across the bus.
“Oh my God, you are both unbearable.”
Steve grins shamelessly while flicking the lighter again.
FWOOM.
Click.
The bus falls quieter after that.
Outside, the fog thickens more and more around the junkyard until the world beyond the barricaded windows starts looking almost unreal. Every now and then you hear faint muffled voices drifting from the roof where Lucas and Max sit keeping watch together.
At first you don’t pay attention.
Mostly because you’re trying very hard not to think about the fact you’re currently sitting in a barricaded bus waiting for a Demogorgon to appear.
But then—
“…stepbrother…”
Your attention flickers upward slightly.
The conversation above is too muffled to make out properly, but you catch enough words here and there drifting down through the roof hatch.
“…always a dick…”
“…angry all the time…”
“…takes it out on you…”
Something cold settles uncomfortably in your stomach.
Billy.
Your mind flashes briefly back to the parking lot outside school, the way Max looked climbing into his car, the tension in her shoulders, the sharpness in Billy’s voice when he spoke to her.
You knew something was off.
But hearing even pieces of this makes your stomach twist unpleasantly.
She’s just a kid.
Your eyes lower toward the bus floor quietly, suddenly feeling vaguely sick.
Across the aisle, Steve’s lighter stops flicking.
You glance up automatically and realise he heard it too.
For a brief second your eyes meet across the dim bus interior.
Steve doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t smirk.
Doesn’t hit you with an I told you so even though he absolutely could.
He just looks at you for a moment, understanding flickering silently across his face before you look away first, staring back toward the dark windows instead.
The silence that settles afterward feels heavier somehow.
Then suddenly—
“Lucas—?!”
Dustin’s voice cuts sharply through the quiet.
Above you, movement scrambles across the roof.
“HOLD ON!”
Everyone in the bus goes instantly still.
You hear Lucas shifting quickly overhead before silence falls again for one horrible second.
Then—
“I’ve got eyes! Ten o’clock—TEN O’CLOCK—behind the fence!”
_________________________________
The junkyard has gone completely still.
The fog drifting through the rusted cars and broken machinery has thickened now, curling low across the ground like smoke while darkness settles fully over everything. From inside the barricaded bus, the outside world feels distant somehow, muffled beneath layers of metal and fog and growing tension.
You crouch beside one of the tiny gaps between the welded scrap metal covering the windows, squinting through it into the dark.
There.
Dart stands motionless behind one of the fences in the distance.
Not moving.
Not reacting.
Just watching.
Beside you, Dustin shifts anxiously.
“What’s he doing…?”
Steve leans slightly closer to the peephole, his brows furrowing.
“I have no idea…”
Outside, the fog curls around Dart’s silhouette in slow waves, making the thing look even less real somehow. Every instinct in your body is screaming that something about this is wrong.
Very wrong.
Steve’s fingers tighten slightly around the nail bat.
“He’s not taking the bait,” he mutters quietly. “Why’s he not taking the bait…?”
“Maybe he’s not hungry?” Dustin offers weakly.
Your eyes stay fixed on the dark silhouette.
“…Or maybe he’s sick of cow.”
The words leave your mouth before you fully think them through.
But the second they do, a decision settles heavily in your chest.
You straighten immediately.
Then grab Steve’s bat.
Dustin’s head snaps toward you instantly.
“What are you doing?”
Before you can answer, Steve reacts even faster.
“Absolutely not.”
He grabs the bat right back out of your hands, immediately passing you the hunting knife tucked into his belt instead before pushing himself toward the bus door.
You blink.
“…Steve—”
But he’s already moving.
Then he tosses his lighter toward Dustin without even looking.
“Just get ready.”
The rusty folding bus door groans loudly as Steve slowly pushes it open, cold fog immediately spilling into the dark bus interior.
Every nerve in your body screams at you not to go out there.
Unfortunately, you ignore all of them.
Knife gripped tightly in your hand, you slip out after Steve into the freezing night air.
The junkyard suddenly feels massive outside the bus.
Endless.
The fog drifts around your legs while you and Steve move carefully through the maze of rusted metal toward the meat pile sitting exposed in the centre of the clearing. Somewhere behind you, you can hear muffled movement from inside the bus and faint shouting from the roof, but the words blur together indistinctly beneath the wind.
Your heart pounds harder with every step.
This is stupid.
This is such a stupid idea.
Steve reaches the meat pile first and immediately starts waving the bat through the air aggressively.
“Come on!” he shouts into the darkness. “Let’s go!”
You grimace before forcing yourself to join in.
“Hey, buddy,” you call nervously into the fog, your voice sounding far less confident than you wanted it to. “Human’s better than cat, I promise—”
The words die in your throat.
Movement.
Dart slowly emerges from the fog beyond the fence.
Only now he barely even resembles Dart anymore.
Your stomach drops instantly.
He’s enormous now.
Not dog-sized.
Bigger.
The thing stalking toward you through the fog is easily the size of a Great Dane, its slick body rippling unnaturally beneath pale grey skin while thick strings of mucus drip from its partially opened jaws. Every movement looks wrong, too smooth and too animalistic at the same time.
Terrifying.
Beside you, Steve subtly moves in front of you without thinking, one arm shifting slightly backward like he’s shoving you further behind him while tightening his grip on the bat.
Dart slinks forward slowly.
One slimy paw at a time.
And suddenly you regret this entire plan with every fibre of your being.
From somewhere behind you, muffled shouting erupts again from the bus roof.
Louder this time.
Urgent.
Steve barely reacts, too focused on the creature stalking closer.
“I’m a little busy here!” he shouts back without turning around.
Then you hear it.
Growling.
Not from in front of you.
From the side.
Your head snaps sharply toward the sound—
And your heart stops.
Another creature moves through the fog to your right.
Same size.
Same horrible movement.
Same peeling face.
Your hand instantly grabs Steve’s arm hard enough to make him turn.
The second he sees it, his expression changes completely.
“Oh, shit.”
More movement.
Another one emerges behind an old rusted tractor.
Then another behind a pile of crushed cars.
Shapes moving everywhere through the fog now.
A pack.
“Oh God,” you breathe.
Behind you, the bus doors burst open.
“Y/N! STEVE!—ABORT! ABORT!”
You spin automatically toward Dustin’s voice.
Bad idea.
Because the second you look away—
Dart SCREAMS.
Its face peels open violently into rows of teeth and petals and horror before the entire pack charges at once.
Straight toward you.
Everything happens too fast after that.
You barely even process the sound you make before you turn and run.
The creatures shriek behind you, claws tearing through dirt and scrap metal as they charge across the junkyard at terrifying speed. Fog explodes around your legs while your lungs burn instantly, adrenaline slamming through your body hard enough to make your vision blur.
Beside you, Steve moves fast.
Really fast.
You almost forget sometimes that beneath all the hair and sarcasm and stupidity, Steve Harrington is actually athletic as hell.
He vaults over a fallen fridge in one smooth movement before grabbing your arm briefly to yank you around the side of a wrecked car just as claws SNAP at your heels.
“MOVE!”
“I AM MOVING!”
A Demogorgon launches over the hood behind you with a shriek.
You duck instinctively while Steve swings the bat hard enough to crack against its side before both of you keep running.
The bus.
The bus is right there.
Almost there.
Another creature lunges from the fog beside you and you barely dodge out the way in time, nearly slipping on wet gravel before Steve grabs your jacket and physically yanks you upright again.
“Hurry!”
The bus doors are open now.
Dustin screaming something incoherent.
Lucas shouting from the roof.
Everything dissolves into noise and panic and claws and shrieking—
Then finally—
You leap.
Straight into the bus.
Momentum sends you crashing directly into Steve as both of you slam hard onto the floor in a tangled mess of limbs and panic—
WHAM!
The folding bus doors slam shut behind you.
And a second later—
A Demogorgon crashes full force into the barricade.
____________________________
The entire bus erupts into chaos.
Everyone screams at once as the Demogorgons slam into the barricades from every direction, the whole vehicle rocking violently hard. Metal groans loudly around you while claws scrape against the outside of the bus with horrible screeching sounds.
For one disorienting second, you’re still sprawled half on top of Steve near the entrance, his arm locked tightly around your waist from where he’d caught you both when you crashed through the doors.
Your breathing is ragged.
His is too.
Then another violent impact rocks the bus hard enough to snap you back to reality.
You shove yourself upright immediately, breaking away from him fast enough to almost stumble before instinct takes over completely.
“Move!”
You grab Dustin by the shoulder, shoving him backwards while forcing Lucas behind you too as another deafening slam rattles through the bus walls.
“HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT—”
Dustin’s panicked voice practically echoes through the bus while Max stares wide-eyed at the barricaded windows.
“Are they rabid or something?!” she yells.
Outside, the Demogorgons scream and shriek loud enough to make your ears ring.
The bus shakes violently again.
Steve lunges toward the folding doors, grabbing loose scrap metal and shoving it harder against the barricade while Lucas clings white-knuckled to one of the seats nearby.
“They can’t get in!” Lucas shouts frantically. “They can’t—!”
The bus lurches hard sideways.
A claw suddenly punches straight through one of the metal-covered windows with a horrible screech of tearing steel.
You all scream.
Steve reacts instantly, swinging the bat hard enough to crack against the claw and force it back outside again.
“Back up!” he shouts.
Dustin is practically hyperventilating now as he grabs his walkie with shaking hands.
“IF ANYONE IS OUT THERE—MIKE, WILL, HOPPER, ERICA, GOD, ANYBODY—”
Another shriek splits through the night.
Metal tears somewhere near the back of the bus.
“WE’RE IN THE OLD JUNKYARD!” Dustin screams desperately into the walkie. “DO YOU COPY?! WE’RE IN THE OLD JUNKYARD AND WE ARE GOING TO DIE—!”
The ceiling suddenly groans above you.
Max looks upward first.
Dust sifts down slowly from the roof hatch.
Your stomach drops.
Then—
A Demogorgon lunges through the open hatch.
Max screams.
The thing roars directly in her face, jaws peeling open into rows and rows of teeth while slime drips from its mouth onto the roof of the bus. Up close it’s somehow even worse, all muscle and claws and hunger and wrongness.
And from the horrified expression on Max’s face—
She finally believes you.
“OUTTA THE WAY!”
Steve shoves forward instantly.
He practically throws himself between Max and the creature without hesitation, planting himself beneath the hatch while gripping the nail bat tightly over his shoulder.
His eyes are wild now.
Furious.
Terrified.
Adrenaline surging through him so hard it practically radiates off him.
“COME GET THIS!” Steve screams upward at the monster. “COME GET THIS!”
For one horrible second, the Demogorgon crouches there above him, shrieking and twitching and ready to attack—
Then suddenly it stops.
Its head jerks upward sharply.
A strange guttural cry leaves its throat.
The sound echoes through the junkyard outside.
And then all around you, the other Demogorgons answer.
The entire bus falls still.
Every creature outside suddenly shrieks back in unison before—
Silence.
The Demogorgon above the hatch abruptly retreats backward out of sight.
Outside, the assault stops just as suddenly as it began.
No more claws.
No more impacts.
No more screaming.
Just silence.
Everyone inside the bus stands frozen, breathing hard while the vehicle creaks softly around you.
Steve slowly lowers the bat, chest heaving.
Dustin practically collapses against one of the seats trying to catch his breath while Lucas stares around in complete confusion.
Beside you, Max suddenly realises she’s still clutching Lucas’s hand tightly.
She lets go immediately.
Neither of them says anything.
A few minutes later, the folding bus door slowly creaks open.
EEEEEEEEE.
Steve steps outside first.
You follow close behind him this time.
The junkyard is almost completely swallowed by fog now, the night dark and empty around the wrecked cars and rusted metal.
Gone.
They’re gone.
Somewhere in the distance, faint howls echo through the woods, growing quieter and quieter.
Fleeing.
The others slowly gather behind you near the bus entrance while Steve scans the darkness carefully, bat still hanging loosely in one hand.
“…What happened?” Lucas asks quietly.
Dustin wipes shakily at his face.
“Steve scared them off.”
“No,” you say immediately.
Your eyes stay fixed on the dark woods ahead, dread slowly curling colder and colder in your stomach.
“No way.”
You swallow hard.
Then finally look toward the direction the creatures disappeared.
How very depressing that Neil Gaiman had trended not even a tiny bit for demonstrating what a fucking horrific person he is.
As a reminder, he's suing Caroline Wallner, one of his accusers, for breaking her NDA. Not for libel. He's saying she shouldn't have told anyone about it, not that she lied.
The author says Wallner broke her NDA by sharing her story with the media, including with New York Magazine.
He doesn't need the money. He's risking the Streisand effect. He is punishing Caroline, he's trying to intimidate other victims who have signed NDAs to scare them into continued silence.
He is no friend to women, to the LGBTQIA+ community, to anyone quite frankly unless he thinks they are of value to him.
Share the story. Put it on Facebook and bluesky and whatever else you're on. Make it clear what a horrifying person he is. Tell your friends. He's paying Edendale a fortune to try and cover this up. Make this hard for him. Make it cost him money.
ScreamingAboutZoro @high-functioning-cosplayer - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
jbbartram-illu
dededos
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
areudirty
jacobvanloon
2087
